Miss Baron was not encouraged to argue the point any further. She resumed the subject of going to bed.
“You know I’m to have his room—your brother’s?” the guest insisted.
“Mother said you might sleep where you liked.”
“Did she say that?”
“Almost exactly.”
“Well, where is that attic room?”
“It’s up one more flight of stairs—under the roof.”
The child looked quite wistful and earnest, and then her words came with conviction. “I just couldn’t sleep up there. Attics are where misers sleep, and poor children. It’s where people die of hunger and cold. It’s never the right kind of people. Come, let’s go to his room.”
And so they did.
“You won’t mind my helping you?” pleaded Flora.